Fading Star?
by caramel729cucumber
Summary: A catastrophic accident causes Uhura to be stranded on Vulcan; when she meets the rebellious Lakyo, coincidence binds them forever, and soon they are fighting fate on a desperate mission to reclaim what has been lost, but Spock's still searching...
1. Once upon a time

**Fading Star? Prologue: Once upon a time…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek in any way, shape, or form. But I should. I really should. **

**Please review! This is only the prologue, obviously. The story begins about fifty years before the events of Star Trek XI (or 2009, as you may know it), in the year 2164. I'm sort of making up my own alternate timeline here, but corrections of any inaccuracies are gladly welcomed. **

"Unacceptable."

The single word was enough.

"According to records, her application was reviewed by our current Director of Admissions, L'gai, and her interview was undertaken by myself, due to her exceptional academic record. At the time, her scores fitted exactly to the model that we have drawn up."

His expression alone showed all of the others seated around the table his intense displeasure – he felt no emotion, of course, that would be illogical, but displeasure was not anger or annoyance. It was simply the case that there was a problem. Vulcans did not show emotion, and the Director of the Vulcan Science Academy was the most Vulcan of Vulcans.

He asked at the academic statistician for an explanation.

"Director," the statistician began, "her marks are perfect. She completes every diagram, every experiment, and every analysis that is required of her exactly as she should. She understands everything, and in every exam that she has taken while at the Academy she has achieved complete marks."

"The situation remains unacceptable," the Director said calmly.

"There is nothing we can do," said the Sub-Director. "She is brilliant, and will in all likelihood become an invaluable asset to the Academy."

"She will never become an asset, because her behaviour is illogical."

"Her work is not."

"Anyone can be intelligent and never overcome emotion."

"She could be great," said the Sub-Director. "She could become more respected and achieve more than even Sarek will. If you give her a chance – you could place her under my personal tuition – she may well, some day, gain galactic recognition, fame, and power."

"An illogical Vulcan has no place at my Academy," said the Director, closing the argument like only a Vulcan can – without blood, without offense, and without raising his voice so that it could be heard from more than ten metres away.

"What about the biometric scans?" asked the statistician. "There are certain genetic factors with a proven link to mental stability."

"She is not lacking in mental stability. She knows exactly what she is doing, and what she is doing is that she is trying to bring us down."

The Director leant forwards over the table, looking the Head Biometric Examiner straight in the eye.

"I want a double-check over her previous scans and I want another two scans undertaken. Mental, physical, and genetic scans must be undertaken. I will be expecting all of these scan to have been completed in three days' time."

"Yes, Director." The Examiner hesitated, and then asked, "Do you have any preferences as to how we obtain this information?"

"I would like it to be gained from states of consciousness and unconsciousness. You have permission to use any means you like of bringing her to your lab. It is unlikely that she will come of her own volition," the Director answered. "Meeting dismissed."

The board left the room one by one, until only the Director and the Sub-Director remained.

"Sub-Director?"

"Sir?"

"You have permission to leave the Academy."

This roughly equates to something like _you're fired_.


	2. A long, long time ago

**Fading Star? Chapter 1: A long, long time ago…**

**Disclaimer: the possession of the rights to and/or of Star Trek do not belong to me. **

**AN: I have corrected my date mistake in the Prologue (and the Director of the Academy is no longer T'pan, because I want to create a new character now). And I'm sorry, I completely forgot to publish this for about two weeks, even though I finished this chapter the day after I wrote the Prologue.  
**

**Please review!**

Nyota Uhura hummed to herself as she slid out of the opening and stepped out into the cool, dark air. The rocks were damp beneath her feet; it was the kind of night where she could imagine herself singing again, imagine lights in the sky, imagine… but there was no use imagining any of that. It was never going to happen.

Right. Water. Okay. She lifted her feet up gently, one by one, as she made her way over to the stream that trickled out of the stone tunnels and caverns of the cave system – but what was that sound?

Footsteps.

"Damn," muttered Nyota.

Vulcan footsteps, she would have thought, except that it was ridiculous to imagine that a Vulcan would come here. And anyway, the breathing didn't match –

_Breathing? Damn it again. If I can hear his breathing, then he can hear mine… and if he can hear my breathing, then it's kind of likely that he can hear me speaking. And if he's moving around and he can hear me, then he's probably going to come my - _

As she cursed silently and backed away beneath an overhanging rock, Nyota noted the irony – she had been right in her unfinished thought, because the Vulcan was coming her way: as she had been realising slowly that whoever it was would come to find her, whoever it was had been coming to find her.

_Hell! What have I done to deserve this?_

She could see nothing of the figure except a faintly darker shape against the black rock. The footsteps were light and even, perfectly Vulcan, but the very fact that someone was here, in the wilderness reserve, defied logic. Why would a Vulcan be here? Why would any sane person be here?

However, the fact remained that a person was here. Whether or not he or she was crazy was irrelevant, and would make no difference to the situation.

_God! I'm thinking like one of them now. _

But it really didn't matter.

Nyota pressed herself against the wall of rock; she could see the figure stepping towards her in the faint reddish light – in these weeks of deep summer the sun never fully went down; it reminded Nyota painfully of her childhood on Earth, those summer days when the sky was tinged as though with blood throughout the night.

"Ah!" She let out an involuntary gasp, as her hand slipped on the rock and her skin was pierced by a sharp shard of rock.

The stranger stopped. "Who's there?"

Nyota's surprise made her clumsy, and in her attempt to slide into the tiny fissure in the rock she let loose a tumble of pebbles.

"Who's there?" the Vulcan repeated, and Nyota knew that she couldn't hide anymore. She stepped out into the open, and in the red light she saw a person surprisingly familiar to her – so familiar that she took a step forwards and spoke before she realised what she was saying, and its futility and its stupidity and how much it betrayed of her heart.

* * *

"I've been hiding," the girl said, "for the past three days."

"They haven't found you yet?"

"If they know where I am, they're not doing anything about it."

Nyota looked around the cave. They had been sitting there for the past half hour, as the sun gently sank down beyond the skyline.

At first, the stranger had been suspicious, but it seemed that hunger and thirst had brought her in.

In the flickering light of the fire, the Vulcan girl's greenish skin was barely noticeable. She was smaller than Nyota, a few years younger - eighteen maybe, slender and almost beautiful.

_Why should it have to be "almost"? He was..._

She didn't let herself finish that thought.

The girl's gaze was completely steady. She sat cross-legged on the cave floor, holding her hands by the fire. It was unnerving how she didn't seem to need to blink as much as a human would, even in the smoky air. Her black hair was completely straight, plaited neatly around her head, and her dark brown eyes were so much like... Nyota had to know.

"What's your name?"

The girl regarded her without emotion, then nodded slowly.

"Lakyo."

"That's your first name?" Nyota asked, trying to fight back the sense of crushing disappointment that was threatening to engulf her.

Lakyo gave her a strange look. "It is my name."

"Are you related to... Sarek?" It was a gamble, but it might have something going for it.

"You surprise me," said the Vulcan, sounding about as surprised as a watermelon might if confronted with a walnut wearing a woolly hat. "Sarek is the son of my mother's brother."

"Oh, my God," whispered Nyota. "You're going to be his cousin."


	3. And a very long way away

**Fading Star? – Chapter 2: And a very long way away...  
**

**Disclaimer: The rights to and/or for Star Trek and I are not well acquainted: neither of us is in possession of the other. **

**AN: Sorry for the long wait (if any of you even cares – unlikely, I know, but possible) for this chapter. I'm back at school, you see, where they try their very hardest to stifle my natural creativity and curiosity and general Qi and give me so much homework that I don't have ANY time to write AT ALL. Also, I am prone to terrible writer's block. **

**This chapter may be a little OOC for prime Star Trek universe, but please bear in mind the characters displayed in STXI, to which this story will remain faithful to the end. A new character is introduced here.  
**

_People endure grief in different ways. _

_Most sit in silence, and cry. _

_Many fight. _

_A very, very, few stand straight and carry on walking. _

_It's just as hard for them._

_**A corridor, the USS Enterprise, Stardate 2260**_

It was easy for Spock to work out who was walking behind him – those footsteps were extremely recognisable – but he would have known anyway, because for the past twelve months Kirk had been trailing him everywhere he went.

That wasn't strictly true, to be fair. Kirk only followed him when he went anywhere of his own volition – whether he was on shore leave, on a mission, or just doing something on the _Enterprise_, Kirk would be on his tail. Basically, when Kirk wasn't at gunpoint, he was trailing Spock. Unless Spock was at gunpoint – although even then, sometimes, he would follow.

_I suppose that he has his reasons,_ thought Spock. _Illogical reasons, but reasons all the same. _He ran through them in his head, the thoughts forming into neat bullet points on the clean page of logic that was Spock's mind.

_He thinks I might kill myself. _

_He thinks I'm a danger to myself. _

_He thinks that I might abandon duty and go to find her._

There were more reasons, but even logic has its limits.

Spock turned a corner, and saw a pair of young Human officers, not long on the ship, walking towards him. They looked away, avoiding his eyes.

He knew why _that_ was.

Finally, Spock turned around.

"Captain?" he said to Kirk pointedly.

Jim looked embarrassed. "Sorry." Green eyes met brown, and turned aside. "Seriously," he said, with more feeling, "I'm sorry."

"Your apology is accepted."

The captain's expression was one only of concern, but Spock could not bring himself to speak more than that. His thoughts seemed to stick in his throat, glueing his mouth shut – not that he would have spoken them anyway. What was the point? It was illogical to dwell on emotions, forever weeping over what had been done. What was forever lost was forever lost.

As they stood there, at an impasse, a figure came running around the corner at the far end of the corridor. It hurtled towards them, without stopping or even slowing down. Spock calculated the angles and stepped out of the way. Kirk stood still for a second too long and the runner crashed into him with a surprising crunch.

As Kirk recovered his breath and his accidental assailant lay winded on the floor, Spock saw that it had been Scotty, who as so often, who had been tearing about the ship doing something or other unusual.

"Scott," said Kirk slowly, "what the hell are you doing?"

Scotty looked up at him. "Give me a hand getting up," he muttered, "and I'll tell you… Captain." He had almost forgotten to add "Captain", as usual, but Kirk was used to that.

Kirk pulled Scotty to his feet. "Right, what's going on?" he asked.

The physicist frowned from beneath his woolly hat. "Maybe we should go to the bridge. I think Kinari will be able to explain better."

As they left to the bridge Kirk wondered privately if he had done something terrible to deserve such a madcap crew. It was fairly likely, considering some of his past exploits, that he had.

_**The bridge**_

Lieutenant Kinari Tomlin waved her hand over the readings on the screen. "You can see here that the frequency has changed, the shapes of the vibrations seem to have become different."

Scotty interrupted – "No, she's explaining it wrong. It's not so much the vibrations as the dimensions themselves that are changing…"

Kirk tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. It wasn't that physics in itself bored him, though he'd rather have a decent Cardassian Sunrise any day, but the way that Scotty and Tomlin was explaining this made him feel that there were probably easier ways of understanding an oscillatory transfer through varying matter vectors – shooting oneself in the head, for example.

Spock, however, was fascinated. He examined the screen, and worked out that, indeed, his first assumptions had been correct.

"Captain," he said quietly, "this signal is coming from Vulcan."

Kirk looked worried. "Uh…" He didn't know how to put this without causing Spock undue pain, but he couldn't help but wonder if his First Officer was fit for duty. _Vulcan_? The signal was coming from _Vulcan_? Had his mind really cracked this time? Should he tell him that his home had been destroyed entirely two years previously, or would that be like awakening a sleepwalker?

Lt Tomlin, however, seemed to have no such worries.

"Vulcan is gone," she said.

Kirk wondered how she could be so insensitive. She was half Betazoid, and so she was telepathic – how could she not have seen the anguish that this would put Spock through? He watched him tentatively, waiting on edge for a reaction.

"Yes," agreed Spock calmly, and Kirk attempted to hit the inside of his head with his brain. That would teach him to underestimate his first officer's sanity. "Vulcan is currently gone, but it was only destroyed two years ago. This signal is clearly from some time ago."

Scotty sighed. "Ah… I see now. If you look at it that way, then you can tell that it…" his voice trailed off, and then he shook his head. "No, it still doesn't make sense. It can't have been delayed on the way, because it hasn't been displaced at all."

"No," corrected Spock, "whether or not it has been displaced has no relevance. It has not been travelling to us, nor have we been travelling to it. We have been travelling to one another."

Scotty and Kirk both looked totally confused, but Spock's mind was racing. This was his chance. He had been waiting for this for so long.

"Impossible," said Tomlin. "Sound cannot travel in a vacuum, therefore it cannot have got here through a wormhole." Her unmistakeably Betazoid accent, with its long, stretched vowels, was reassuring, yet slightly annoying, seeming almost patronising.

Spock blinked. Half a second's delay, and then – "That is not the only way to travel through time. You are over-complicating this, Lieutenant. At what rate do we travel through time?"

"One second per second, Officer."

"At what rate does a distress call such as this travel through time?"

"Uh… what?"

"At what rate does a distress call such as this travel through time?" repeated Spock. An expression of dawning light, swiftly chased away by embarrassment, slid across Tomlin's face.

"One second per second."

"And how fast does sound travel through a vacuum?"

"It doesn't."

"Did I say it did?"

"No, sir."

"Is this a sound?"

"No, sir."

Spock turned to his captain. "Captain, this signal has been waiting here for a ship to cross its path for about fifty years or so. It is clearly flawed – there is a dip in the longitudinal wave reading, which is imperfect – but it is definitely a distress signal."

Kirk sighed. "Fine, Officer. Do what you like."

Spock felt a quiet sense of achievement. Finally, a lead.

Deception of one's captain is on occasion logical. It just needs the right mind to deal with it.

**Please, please, please, review! I know there's some of you reading, but I really would appreciate some reviews. Constructive criticism is welcome to the building site of my writing, but please remember to wear a hard hat. You wouldn't want to get hit on the head with a brick or anything... **

**Just kidding!**

** ^_^ **

**See you next time...  
**


	4. What if it didn't have to be this way?

**Fading Star – Chapter 3: What if it didn't have to be this way? **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Star Trek. **

**AN: Hi!!! Will I ever tire of exclamation marks, I hear you ask? Only when my teachers start using them… **

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed the last chapter. I know it was quite strange, but hopefully this one will be better. **

_A cave, Vulcan, about four hours till sunrise_

Lakyo's eyes glittered as she gazed into the fire. Her knees were tucked into her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her silhouette was cast on the wall in shadow.

Nyota was completely still. She had blown it now, she knew that. And yet… even being here… even knowing that she had not been mistaken… even those tiny things… that had made it worth it.

Finally, Lakyo spoke.

"So, you know Surak?" Her voice was calculating, intelligent.

Nyota sighed, stretching out her arms. "Yeah. He was kind of… a friend of mine," she began.

"Was?" asked Lakyo sharply.

"Well, I say was. I don't really know how else to put it."

"You're not from here," stated Lakyo.

"You're not normal for someone from here."

Lakyo glared blackly at Nyota. "It was not my decision to be born Vulcan."

_Hmm_, thought Nyota. _Perhaps… perhaps this is not a disaster after all. Perhaps this could be my chance…_

"Why are you here?" she asked Lakyo.

Lakyo looked into Nyota's eyes and raised one eyebrow. "Swear to me," she said. "Swear that you'll never betray me. Swear on your life."

Nyota shivered. "I swear."

Lakyo began to speak, slowly and carefully, each word measured and chosen with appropriate care. "I was… apprehended… examining… the Director of the Science Academy's study," she said; her tone was quiet but carrying. "I was searching for a file that I thought he might have a hard copy of. I was not mistaken –" in saying this, Lakyo's voice became painfully hard and cold – "but before I could read it the Director came in, and although I hid I was discovered. I realise now that I was mistaken in hiding, that it would have been more logical not to, but I acted on impulse. I managed to escape and hid in my apartments for a time, after which the news came to me that I was wanted by the Board. It seemed wise then to abandon my education in pursuit of… safety." It was clear that she had been going to say something else, but had changed her mind at the last minute, and Nyota was bursting with questions.

"What did you want?"

"A file," said Lakyo steadily.

"But why?" asked Nyota curiously.

"Because…" Lakyo hesitated, then relegated caution to matters concerning the fire and threw out her confession with an abandon that made her features seem surprisingly free. "I do not belong with them, I am not Vulcan."

"How –" began Nyota, but Lakyo cut her off.

"When I was young, only eight or so summers old, a guest came to my parents' house. He stayed until the next day, and then left, leaving plomeek broth on the table and his imprint burned into my brain." Lakyo blinked, slowly. "Perhaps… perhaps a mind meld would be easier?"

"You can meld?" asked Nyota, a burning curiosity in her voice.

"I am capable of anything that any Vulcan a hundred times my age can do and more." Lakyo smiled. She reached out her hands, placing two fingers on Nyota's temples, and shut her eyes.

Nyota's mind was filled with black mist for a few seconds. The mist began to clear – or was it that it was becoming surroundings, becoming a scene? She saw a little Vulcan girl, with cropped black hair and dark eyes glittering with anger, and heard a voice…

"Lakyo, leave us now."

"Why?" asks the girl furiously, her voice simmering with incandescent rage. "What is he that I cannot see?"

"He is nothing," says the voice, and Nyota saw an older Vulcan, with similar dark hair but eyes not half so bright, facing Lakyo. She towers over the child, but the little girl's passion lends her an impression of strength.

"Then why must I leave?"

"He is a human, and he is not here for you. It is late and you must sleep."

"I am old enough to know what is going on!" yells Lakyo, her temper finally breaking. "Why must I be treated as though I am not equivalent in mind to you?"

Lakyo's mother – she must be her mother – looks at her daughter and tells her, "This embarrassing display of emotion reflects badly upon yourself. You have proved now that you are not mature enough to meet our visitor. You are excused."

The little girl turns around and storms out, kicking the door as it opens for her.

The picture melted away, and another image slid into Nyota's mind. The young Lakyo stands in a darkened room, fists clenched, and then suddenly runs to the door. She tiptoes down the corridor and flattens herself against the wall. She listens…

"Where is your daughter?" asks a voice in Standard, and the child blinks as she adjusts to the other language.

"Asleep," replies a deep voice, and someone clears his throat in annoyance.

"Why do you ask?" That is Lakyo's mother.

"I heard her earlier. She shows much emotion for a Vulcan – have you told her yet what she is?"

The deep-voiced person – perhaps Lakyo's father? – speaks in a stern tone now. "No, and we shall not. It will not be us that brings her downfall – already she shows her intelligence, already she shows that she is capable of what no one else will ever be."

"She is the last, then?"

"I believe so. The rest are gone – they have failed already in keeping them alive on all the other planets."

"Vulcan, Romulan, Earth…" the guest muses, "Betazed, Andoria, Zaran II, Ardana, Aurelia… was that all?"

"Yes." There was a pause.

"Eight planets… and yet the experiment has failed."

"How do you mean that?"

"If we have only one left, then our goal will never be reached."

"Yes, but the experiment has not failed, as there is still one left," counters Lakyo's father.

"This is true," says the guest, "but soon she will break. Then it will all be over."

"It is no failure for us," says Lakyo's mother. "She is not ours, after all…"

The child turns away and returns to her room.

The meld ended, and Nyota was left gasping, her head in her hands, barely able to breathe.

"You see now?" asked Lakyo, her voice raw with pain. "I am not Vulcan. I am just an experiment."

Nyota was still processing what she had just experienced. "You mean…"

"Yes. I mean that."

"Who would do something like that?" whispered Nyota.

"That," said Lakyo evenly, "is what I'm trying to find out."

A frightening thought shot through Nyota's mind. "What will you do when you find them?" she asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

Lakyo's voice was as cold as a surgical knife. "I'm not Vulcan. I don't need logic to live." She narrowed her eyes, black holes that showed all the way down to her soul. "I want revenge."

Nyota's thoughts were racing, but before she could speak Lakyo dropped her head dejectedly, and covered her face with her hands before muttering, "I'll never find them though. Do you know how long I've searched? How many files I've stolen, how many archives I've searched back to front? I went through the office of the Director of the Science Academy, I've translated a hundred and four ciphers and I've been caught six times, but I haven't found a trace of these intergalactic plans."

Nyota was silent for a moment. "Vulcan, Romulan, Earth, Andoria, Betazed… what else was it?"

"Aurelia, Zaran II, Ardana," supplied Lakyo.

"What links them all?" wondered Nyota. "They all have different languages, they're fairly spread out, they're all part of the Federation…"

"Nothing I haven't heard before," murmured Lakyo. "Nothing fits."

An idea shot across Nyota's mind like a solar flare. "I think… I can help you," she said carefully.

Lakyo narrowed her eyes and did not speak.

"Look," said Nyota quickly, "I can get you to the Federation – I can get us both away from Vulcan. I can take you to Starfleet, we can find justice somehow – for both of us – we can both benefit from it if we work together –" her tone rose in exuberance, her eyes danced in the firelight − and then her voice fell – "except… there might be a bit of a wait."

'How long?" asked Lakyo suspiciously.

Nyota sighed. "What's the current Stardate?" she asked softly.

"2164."

"Damn."

"Who the hell are you?" asked Lakyo, and Nyota knew she couldn't hold out any longer.

"Listen," she said, "this might seem unlikely, but…"

**Ooh, cliffie! Please review, I've had three reviews so far and about two hundred readers. Tell me if you like it, if you hate it, if you have any suggestions… anything, just PLEASE review!**


	5. Seems a bit unlikely to me

**Fading Star? – Chapter 4: Seems a bit unlikely to me**

**Disclaimer: Mine? NO. **

**AN: Thanks so much for reading! Sorry, I know it's been a while.**

**This chapter is dedicated to **Babita**, who has left so many kind reviews. If anyone has any suggestions or comments, leave a review of your own or PM me. **

_The medical deck, USS Enterprise _

"So let me get this straight," said McCoy once again. "You picked up this signal, about where Vulcan used to be, and you decided that it meant you had to go to Andoria?"

"It's more complicated than…" began Jim, but McCoy just kept on talking.

"And this makes sense because Andoria was the traditional enemy of Vulcan in ancient times, so they're really going to want to help us trace an archived signal from fifty years ago, and because it's so damned cold there that when the temperature rises below freezing they put the air conditioning on?"

"Oh, shut up, Bones," yawned Jim. "Let Spock do what he wants, it won't hurt… we're not on a mission or anything…"

McCoy shook his head. "You need some coffee, Jim," he said. "If you were even half awake, you wouldn't have put him in charge of the ship. Do I recall that the first time you met him you called him a pointy-eared bastard? And now you're letting him take your ship to God knows where, just because he says he heard…"

But the doctor's captain wasn't listening. He was slumped in his chair, fast asleep.

_Lt Tomlin's cabins, USS Enterprise _

Lt Kinari Tomlin was twenty-four years old. She had been with Starfleet for seven years, since she joined as a bright young xenolinguist aged seventeen. Tomlin wasn't expecting to be assigned to the _Enterprise _when she was called up eighteen months ago, and she wasn't quite sure of the details as to _why_ exactly the vacancy had come up…

_But there have been… turn-ups… to the job,_ she reflected, _and you won't catch me complaining. _

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," she called softly, eyes still fixed on her book.

The metal panel slid open silently and Lt. Scott stepped through, pulling off his hat, a small smile on his face.

"What's up?" asked Kinari. Her telepathic abilities were stronger than many part Betazoids'*****, and she could tell from the timbre of their thoughts who had entered the room – a useful talent for a xenolinguist.

Scotty's grin widened. "Guess where our esteemed First Officer is taking us…" he began.

Kinari looked up from the text she was reading – Betazoid fairy tales in ancient script. She was from the Ninth House of Betazed, the House of Learning, and her remarkable ability to pick up languages had gained her a high social status… it had come as a bit of a shock when she had announced to her parents her intentions to join Starfleet.

"I don't know, where are we going?"

"Andoria," said Scotty, his smile so wide that it seemed literally to stretch from ear to ear.

Kinari blinked.

There was a slightly awkward pause, and then she leapt up from her seat in one fluid movement and threw her slender brown arms around Scotty. He responded by picking her up and spinning around, though she was at least four inches taller than him, and somehow or other they ended up lying sprawled, breathless with laughter, on the little fold-out bed, still hand in hand but helpless to move.

"Tomlin," gasped Scott between spasms of mirth, "you are pleased, right?"

Kinari sighed, a giggle catching her on the in-breath.

"What do _you_ think?" she asked sarcastically.

Scotty frowned, a little uncertainly, murmured, "I'm taking that as a yes, then…" and clicked his tongue against his teeth, a gesture he often made when stressed.

Kinari rolled over onto her front and bent over Scotty, resting her weight on the palms of her hands. Her straight black hair hung down on each side of her angular face, her black eyes glimmered – she had never been beautiful, she was fully aware of that, but to Scott's eyes she was more than attractive: there was an impossible bond between them, unspoken, omnipresent, but stronger than love and brighter than pain. They had a closeness that most people will never experience, the kind that everyone's heard but about but can never fully comprehend until it shoots across their sky like a meteor.

"Will this straighten it all out for you?" whispered Kinari, bowing her head and kissing him.

_The bridge, USS Enterprise_

Chekov could barely restrain his annoyance.

Какого черта делает Кирк думаю, что он делает, давая этой безумной чужеродные управление кораблем? Он не понимает, какое предприятие работает, ей нужна любовь ... если бы я мог только один день ее руля ... Ох, уж эти вулканцами - сумасшедшая, многие из них, he thought.

There were some words in Standard that could not translate into Russian. He had no idea that there was a difference between _business _and _enterprise_, for example – the word _Предприятие_, meaning _enterprise _or _endeavour_, had dropped out of his native vernacular about seventy years ago, since the turn that the economy had taken in Earthyear twenty-fourteen.

That, however, was beside the point, for it has already been proven that what you cannot fully express in language you cannot fully express in thought. The point is that Chekov was more than slightly, to use a common phrase, ticked off.

He cleared his throat.

Once, twice.

Spock didn't even blink.

He drummed his fingers on the edge of his screen increasingly violently. It sounded like a miniature thunderstorm getting closer and closer.

No response.

He said "right!" once or twice, though it sounded more like "white!", all told.

Spock continued to run his fingers over the screen map in a manner so infuriatingly nonchalant that he just had to have noticed.

Chekov felt a hot flush drift beneath his skin. He stood up too fast, unthinking, and was forced to sit down again when he cracked his knees on the overhang of the computer surface.

"Ensign Chekov, is there a problem?" asked Spock without so much as turning his head.

Chekov gritted his teeth. He knew he had to control his anger, he knew he had to obey orders, he knew… he knew that he damn well didn't want to.

Chekov sighed.

"No, sir."

Such is the life of the lowly ensign – it's hardly reasonable, after all, to think that the word of a Russian boy with a slightly silly haircut and a very silly accent would be able to overcome the forces of senseless, passionate, love.

*** For example, Deanna Troi had limited telepathic abilities, though she was capable of some feats that on occasion had surprised her superiors and/or adversaries.**

**AN: Hope you liked it! Sorry it was such a short chapter. Took me ages to write, as usual. Please review. **


	6. Really not my problem

**Fading Star? – Chapter 5: Really not my problem**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. But I can deal with that. I'm getting over it. Seriously…**

**AN: Thanks for all the feedback. I hope you enjoy this chapter (sorry for the delay), because I had great fun writing it, especially the second half. It's incredibly long compared to the others. **

_**Somewhere in the cave system, Vulcan, nearly dawn**_

"Please," pleaded Nyota, "just listen, okay, just listen…"

There was silence.

"Can't you just trust me?" she asked softly, trying to soften the edge of frustration creeping into her voice.

No sound from Lakyo.

"I want this too, I need it just as much as you do… we can do it, together, but we can't do it alone…" Her own words were beginning to annoy her by now.

Nyota turned around, and saw that Lakyo was gone.

"Damn."

Looking about her, Nyota could see nothing but darkness and rock. She held her hand out to test the air; a rust-red drop of condensation dripped onto her hand, staining it like blood.

_Plink._ Another drip hit the floor.

_Plink_. She felt a strange rush of blood to her head; she couldn't stand up on her own and had to press her palms against the wall.

_Plink._ She took a deep breath in and tried to concentrate. What was happening to her?

This whole cave system had been hollowed out over the years, partly by natural erosion and partly by being a refuge for runaways, _V'tosh ka'tur_, would-be law-breakers – rebels the lot of them, whether Vulcan or otherwise. An air of secrecy still permeated the dank caverns and tunnels, as though generations of secrets had embedded themselves in the rock, as though every hurried step and every frantic gasp and every whispered prayer had sunk through the outer rock into the strata of congealed lava that lay below and drifted down deeper and deeper and broken free and every breath she took brought her closer and closer into its heart and soon enough she –

"Ah!"

She drew her breath in, in a gasp. It had felt as though… as though she was breathing with lungs that needed much less air, seeing with eyes that had an extra lid, hearing with ears that picked up the tiniest sound… and her heart… her heart had been in the wrong place, fluttering like a bird – she had felt _Vulcan_.

Nyota shook her head. It was just the air, she told herself firmly, it was just the dusty air down here that hadn't moved for fifty years… But a tiny part at the back of her mind told her that it was not just the air. Something inside of her screamed "_Get out, get out now! Save your own skin and don't bother about hers!" _ That animal instinct, dormant in everyone, was telling her what she already knew.

But she also knew that it was too late to back out now. She had to keep fighting. And she had to get home.

And the only way she could do that was with Lakyo's help.

Nyota began to search.

Lakyo could see a shaft of light. It stemmed from a crack in the rock about fifty metres away from her, so she headed that way, lowering her inner eyelids to protect the delicate irises beneath.

As she drew closer, the light grew, but it seemed that the crevice through which it shone was tiny, far too small even for Lakyo's petite frame to slip through. She sighed.

She had been glad to get away from Nyota. Lakyo couldn't stand the Human, partly because she was a squeaky fool who cared more about the state of her hair than the fact that Lakyo was the last component of some encircling galactic conspiracy, but also partly because she was not.

Lakyo turned and headed back the way she had come. There was a carven mark on the wall beside her, indicating fourteen forks to the central cavern. Beside that, a smudge of red chalk showed her she had been that way already. A short way down the tunnel, another smudge, and the next fork on from that, the sixteen-fork mark, and a red daub on the right tunnel but not the left.

The tunnels arched over her head, a rust-red gape of nothingness that swallowed every sound she made; her gaze flitted around, taking in the cavity above her and the dusty stone beneath, the uneven stones of the crumbling walls behind her and ahead, the endless shadow of a dark that knows no light.

Lakyo flicked her torch off and then on again, wondering whether or not to enter the tunnel. It looked wide enough at this end, but further down, it could get narrower – and narrow means dangerous when you're a government refugee lost in a darkly Byzantine catacomb of caves on the run. So far from the cavern, it seemed unlikely that anyone would have checked the tunnels for safety…

_Oh, get over yourself,_ she thought impatiently. _Nothing's going to happen to you. And besides – who would care?_

She entered the tunnel. The air inside was chill and, she imagined, felt untouched – like the inside of a grave.

_Get a grip, Lakyo. Remind me when you've been inside a grave?_

The bright pool of light thrown by her torch illuminated a rugged wall of red rock in front of her; she thought she heard a rustle, a murmur, but when she flicked her head around and shone the beam into every corner of cavern there was nothing there.

Lakyo stepped hesitantly further in. The darkness seemed to be pressing in on the light, as though it and not her torch's beam were being cast from its source.

Was it the walls or her eyes that were closing?

Was it her shadow that kept flickering on the wall?

Or someone else's?

She flung her torch over her shoulder. There was a wrenching pain in her shoulder, and she turned slowly, gasping with the pain.

The torch lay on the ground, light pooling slowly around it. The beam flickered and died.

There had been nothing there.

And her light was gone.

There was silence, but for the crack of Lakyo's palm against her cheek.

She stepped back, reeling.

_Get me out of here. Just get me out._

We are inclined to think of runaways from the law as forever crouching in the dark, hearts pounding, fleeing from danger but with a certain scent of permanent peril lingering around them, an intoxicating perfume like the scent of amorousness that surrounds a tall girl with freshly bobbed hair, but there was no romance in her situation: she was a frightened teenage girl alone in the night, wanted by the authorities, with no idea what was happening to her, no idea where she was, no idea who was chasing her and why. The chill of the caves seeped through to her bones.

A frightening sound ripped through the still air, a scream of denial and rebellion charged with fear like shattered glass.

Lakyo didn't realise it was her until her breath ran out and she fell to her knees, breath caught in her throat, strangled by her own irrational terror. Gasping in breaths fast, each jerking in her throat as though her lungs were being ripped out, she choked out a yell. Violent and loud, the act of defiance she could finally perform.

"You can't beat me!"

The words bounced off the walls back at Lakyo.

"You won't!"

The darkness encased her like a sea.

"No…"

Her ragged breathing sounded louder than ever now. Blood pounded in her chest, breaking her ribs from the inside and the sour metallic taste of copper in her mouth like the bitter tears blossoming in her eyes. It was so cold that she could feel the oxygen struggling to flow through her blood, its saturation plummeting and her head swirling with dizziness. It hurt now to even blink, to even think sent boiling pain shooting through her mind, so hot it was cold and then so cold it was hot and cold and hot and cold and nothing made sense and everything was broken and Lakyo shut her eyes.

She pulled her arms into her chest, and lay on the cold ground with exhaustion and fear paralysing her mind and the whole universe an unfriendly and unwelcoming place and she did the only thing left to us when nothing and no one can be saved and nothing and no one has been saved and nothing and no one will save us now from the terror of the dark that cowers in the deepest corners of our hearts and cringes in the hidden places in our mind and drifts with the relentless tide of the blood, endless, endless, beating and beating until it breaks us and we break it, and she did what we all can do, and must do, and will do, and Lakyo fell asleep.

_**A different cave, Vulcan, several hours later**_

Dawn crept over the land like a marmot.

Nyota was utterly exhausted. She must have been miles away from where she started – the chalky marks had long since disappeared (she had been forced to begin making her own markers, scratches on the wall using the handle of her torch) and she doubted that these tunnels had ever even been properly charted or explored. The damp air was making her wheeze. Nyota wasn't sure how much longer she could go on without seeing daylight; it felt as though her skin was drenched with the dank chilliness of what dim light there was down here.

She barely had the strength – or the willpower – to keep on calling Lakyo's name. It took everything she had just to keep searching, her torch's beam swinging from side to side as she looked for her erstwhile companion. Nyota was beginning to doubt that Lakyo had ever had any intention of helping her; if she had not just been planning on leaving as soon as possible, running away, getting out, leaving Nyota to drown in her own self-pitying existence…

But as she approached another turning, something made Nyota turn around. She didn't know what it was – she wouldn't have been able to say if pressed – but maybe she had heard a tiny sigh, or the sound of the wind in the tunnel behind her had changed – but she turned her head, and as the red light of morning flashed brilliant through the opening in the cave wall where Nyota stood, what she had taken to be a fallen rock was illuminated in dawn's bright glow –

She sighed with relief, bending down to examine the huddled form. She had been right: it was Lakyo, curled up in a corner. She was tiny in sleep; so cold to the touch that, Nyota was certain, had she been a human she would be long dead; her arms covering her eyes, her legs tucked up beneath her.

Nyota picked up the girl with barely an effort, but grimaced as she tried to take a step. Despite Lakyo's small frame, she was surprisingly heavy. As Nyota made her way back through the cold tunnels – dawn never reached down here; they remained frigid throughout the year despite the oppressive heat of Vulcan summers – she distracted herself by wondering why this was.

She supposed it must be something to do with the superior Vulcan metabolism – was much less insulating material needed in the Vulcan body, leaving more space for muscle? There was a time when she would have had someone to ask, research facilities to work with and a partner to die for, _to die for,_ she'd told Gaila every day, _he's the best, he's perfect_… everything she'd wanted, everything she could've wanted, even…

Lakyo seemed to grow heavier in her arms as Nyota let herself remember for the first time in how long? She couldn't even remember when she'd last let the pain end and let herself wait, for a few hours, let herself lie in the warmth of the past that was now the future…

_What better time_, she attempted to reason with herself, _what better opportunity to re-acquaint myself with my old acquaintances in memory than when I might – someday soon – be re-acquainting myself with them in reality?_

_That's a pathetic excuse and you know it, Nyota Uhura, _the sensible side of her mind reminded her.

The other side of her mind said: _yeah. So what?_

And though Nyota's body trudged through the dank caves, heading towards a distant exit into a world that was almost as dangerous for her as it was for the deadweight of a girl that she was carrying, her mind drifted, back into the memories of a time that was once what today should be.

_**A commutative linguistics lecture, Starfleet Academy, Stardate 2255**_

Nyota cursed softly as the biro slipped between her fingers and landed underneath the seat in front of her.

"Damn…"

Peering forwards, she saw that the boy seated in front of her, his head bent industriously over his paper, notes appearing in a tiny, precise stream of ink exactly as the lecturer gave them, was a Vulcan. He looked to be in his early twenties, a little older than Nyota, straight-backed and narrow-boned, with inky black hair and angular features.

Nyota noted abstractedly that he was kind of cute.

But still. _Vulcan. _God only knew what Gaila would say if she brought a _Vulcan _back to their room.

God! What was into Nyota today? Her mind was everywhere. She hadn't been able to concentrate even before she'd dropped her pen and noticed the cute Vulcan.

She bent down, trying to look inconspicuous – she could practically feel that cadet with the green eyes sitting behind her check out her butt, where was it that she'd seen him before? Some bar, she would bet on it – and realised with a sigh that her pen had rolled all the way under the Vulcan's seat, resting near his feet. There was nothing for it.

"Excuse me," she whispered in Vulcan, straightening up halfway till her mouth was close enough that he would be able to hear her, but not too close, "but I think I've dropped my pen."

The Vulcan turned his head quickly – too quickly – and for some reason (what _was _the matter with her today? Maybe she hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before.) she didn't move backwards fast enough, and then she didn't move at all, and it felt like at least a minute (though it couldn't have been ten seconds), she was staring into the Vulcan cadet's eyes, velvet-brown and deep, and although she didn't know why, the strangest feeling shot through her – like when she was crouching by the starting line in a race, muscles tensed and reading to spring –

He pulled backwards, apologising in a low murmur, and Nyota was kind of relieved, but also kind of disappointed, as she told Gaila later (much against her better judgement, after a drink or two in their room – a girls' night in with a gossip for a best friend had far too many times been an innocent cadet's downfall, reflected Nyota the next morning, as she nursed a hangover that felt like an earthquake).

"I am assuming from the fact that you are addressing me about this issue that it your writing implement is located beneath my seat."

"Yes," agreed Nyota, although it hadn't been a question.

"Allow me to find it."

The Vulcan deftly searched with a foot for the biro and then bent over to retrieve it. He turned to Nyota once more, holding the pen up, looking rueful.

"Perhaps you should be more careful with your possessions in the future," he told her softly, his tone grave.

_Is this guy _flirting_?_ Nyota wondered. _Do Vulcans even flirt? _

"What makes you say that?" she replied in an even tone. _I am _not _going to lead him on_, she promised to herself. _Lectures are not the time to flirt. Besides, he's not really my type… and he looks older…_

Was she making _excuses_? Not to flirt with a _Vulcan_? Did she _even_ need a reason?

"This primitive writing tool of yours appears to have sustained some damage."

_Definitely flirting. What the hell?_

Nyota looked at the biro: the ink cartridge had smashed, and was leaking black gel onto the Vulcan's hand.

"Oh, great."

He raised one eyebrow.

"I believe that was sarcasm," he whispered, "but although I cannot be sure I am going to loan you another."

And he reached into his pocket and brought out a pen like the one he was using – a navy-blue Starfleet fountain pen, with an embossed crest on the side and gold-leaf edging; the kind they gave out as prizes for exceptional students at the end of each semester.

"Thank you," Nyota said, a little louder than she'd meant to due to her surprise. A few heads turned.

"Here."

The boy handed her the pen, and for a brief second – so short a time that, afterwards, Nyota had hardly believed it was real – the space between their fingers seemed electric with their phantom touch.

Then he turned back to face the front, and the moment passed.

Nyota didn't manage to take a single note throughout the rest of the lecture.

A little over an hour later three hundred cadets filed out of the lecture theatre, blinking in the sudden daylight, and Nyota looked around for the Vulcan cadet in the lobby.

She checked her watch: five past three. Where was he?

Nyota stood there for a short while, scanning the crowd with her eyes for him, but she didn't catch even a glimpse of his black hair.

"It appears that you have been unaware of my presence for the past two minutes and twenty-one seconds," said a voice in her ear casually. "Please allow me to alert you to it."

She breathed in sharply and spun around. It was the cadet, his brown eyes looking into hers – again – and one slender, long-fingered hand held out for the fountain pen. He was taller than she had expected, at least a head over her, and although she couldn't have said why, she had the strangest – and the strongest – feeling that his hand was held out for hers.

Nyota gave him the pen, then smiled, and begin to walk away –

"Wait!"

She turned her head.

"Yeah?"

The Vulcan was hurrying after her, that same strong hand extended.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked her.

Nyota's mind went blank. "Uh… what?" she managed.

He sighed.

"I understand that caffeinated beverages frequently have an effect on the energy levels of Terran forms, similar to that of chocolate on Vulcan forms, and being aware of this and also that brain hydration is important for Terran biology to continue as normal, and finally that you have not had an opportunity to maintain such levels in several hours, would you consider coming with me to get some coffee?"

Nyota blinked.

"Um… yeah." She regained a little of her composure, and smiled. "I guess… I guess I am thirsty."

He nodded. "My name is Spock."

"Nyota." The word escaped before she could stop it. Normally she never told anyone her first name – she disliked its undertones, its girlish sound. The image she wished to project was not one of someone whose name meant "stars" and sounded like something you might call a kitten and then regret when it grew up but with this boy – Spock – she didn't even think, but she didn't mind, not that much.

"Nyota," he repeated, and she really didn't mind. It sounded better in his faint accent, like it meant something. "Would you enjoy a visit to Sophie's Café? I know that many cadets frequent it."

She smiled. "Yes, I do frequent it."

"Will you permit me to pay for your drink?"

Nyota looked at Spock. He was cute, it was true, and what harm could it do? It wasn't _necessarily_ a date… in fact, she wasn't even perfectly sure that Vulcans actually went on dates.

_Stop making excuses_, she told herself.

"I think," she replied, choosing her words with care, "that that would indeed be permissible."

Spock caught up with, and they made their way out across the cool corridor into the crisp autumn air. The sky was a pale blue, like watered ink, and the first leaves were beginning to fall. There was a gentle breeze, and Nyota turned her gaze up towards the cloudless firmament. There was something about autumn that made her feel a little unattached, like a balloon released from its string by a careless child.

Glancing to her left, she noticed that Spock was watching her intently.

"The recent lack of precipitation appears to indicate an earlier than average primary annual freezing of dewfall," he remarked.

"Yes," Nyota agreed, looking straight ahead, and Spock was quiet. Although Nyota wasn't the type to fill every second with inane chatter – she had long ago learned that the quieter you stayed, the more you could learn – awkward silences tended to get to her, but this felt more like the silence between old friends, when it's not that there's nothing left to be said, more that there's nothing that needs to be. She felt calmer than she had in a while; the stress of the beginning of the semester was wearing off, and a feeling of optimism, fragile but very much present, filled her; she was careful not to examine it too closely, for fear it should burst like a bubble in the cool evening sky.

They reached the café in minutes; it was at the bottom of the hill and a few blocks to the east of the Academy's main campus. Although the coffee wasn't great, Sophie's was popular among the cadets – and some of the instructors – because of its reasonable prices and friendly atmosphere, and it was, Nyota mused, the customary place for a first date.

The queue wasn't too long yet, and as they stood in line Nyota caught a few curious glances from the cadets who surrounded them. She could imagine what they were thinking – _he looks older_, _I didn't think she even _did _dating _– and though she could hardly blame them (after all, popular logic demanded that a pretty girl would go for the most popular guy she could get and an older guy very rarely fell into that category, and she herself was frequently guilty of that kind of personality profiling), it did distract her from deciding, and Spock's courteous question took her off-guard.

"Oh – I don't know –"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Please don't feel that any time constraint is currently applicable, Nyota."

She smiled. "I'll have a cappuccino, I think. And" – she hesitated – "do you… want to share a piece of cake? The coconut sponge is my favourite."

"I was going to make that suggestion myself," said Spock politely, insisting in answer to Nyota's sarcastic look: "It is my preference as well."

At the till, Nyota reached into her bag to take out her purse, but as she pulled it out she felt a constraining touch on her wrist. Glancing up, startled, she saw Spock taking the receipt with his other hand, not even looking at her. As they made their way to the other end of the counter he murmured something to her in a low voice, but Nyota didn't catch it.

"I said," Spock repeated softly, "as I believe the saying goes, this one's on me."

Nyota suppressed a smile as they took a small table by the plate-glass window. She leaned forward, cupping her chin in one hand and resting an elbow on the table.

Spock gazed at her for a long moment, and Nyota gave into the urge, a smile spreading across her face like sunshine.

"Do you find something amusing?" Spock asked her.

"It's nothing," she reassured him, leaning forwards and taking a forkful of cake.

_**Vulcan, the present day**_

Nyota blinked in the sudden sunlight that reached her eyes, wrenching her back to the present. As she lowered Lakyo's prone body to the ground at the exit to the caves, half of her mind still dreaming away in San Francisco, a thought occurred to her that she would later barely acknowledge, a thought that hurt to think and almost, almost made her forget.

_What if this is how it is?_

**AN: I seriously love writing origin stories. Always have. Anyway, sorry about the delay, and thanks for waiting so long; this may be my favourite chapter so far in any of my stories, so please leave a review and tell me what you think. Does it suck? Does it rock? If so, let me know!**


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